


The Wayside Meet

by alikuu



Series: Ost-in-Edhil [9]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Allusions to the First Age, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Celebrimbor's instincts are way off, Celebrimbor's issues make a brief appearance, Explicit Sexual Content, First Meetings, Foreboding, Gap Filler, M/M, Second Age, Travel, mentions of Celebrimbor's friendship with the dwarves, one very long conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-05 16:57:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12798570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alikuu/pseuds/alikuu
Summary: Celebrimbor and Sauron meet by chance long before Annatar appears at the smith's doorstep. Set in early Second Age. Gap-filler. Smutty one-shot.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> Wonderful art for this fic by ttrtru <3  
> See the full size on her blog: http://ttrtru.tumblr.com/post/167836478845/fanart-for-alikuus-awesome-new-fic-the-wayside

It was a new age and all roads were clear. At least so said elves since Morgoth was defeated and his evil servants scattered to the remote corners of Arda. The roads were indeed clear and so many green leagues laid uncharted and full of wonder for a lonely traveler, who slowly journeyed through unnamed lands towards the towering mountain range to the east, which spanned like a dark barrier from North to East, dividing the visible horizon and hiding what laid beyond even from elven eyes.

Celebrimbor was that lone Noldo who journeyed through woodland roads and bushy paths, pulling most of his possessions along with a dwarven three-wheel closed cart. The dwarves he had known from the refugee camps of Falas had made this one for him as a sign of their friendship. Traveling long distances on foot with a heavy baggage was made tremendously easier with such a finely balanced cart and on most days Celebrimbor didn’t even notice the weight he was dragging, unless the road was wet and the sprouty wheels sunk into the mud.

He had started some weeks ago from Lindon, and each new day got him closer to his destination, the fabled Khazad-Dûm. The way was long, and traveling by foot it seemed even longer, but blessed with a warm and sunny autumn as he was, the smith spared little thought to complains. His mind was full of imaginings of the wonders he would behold once he was greeted by the hospitality of his friends of old, or in some cases their sons and daughters, since dwarven life was short and Celebrimbor had received heartbreaking news over letters brought by dwarven merchants who often visited the city of the Noldorian High King. Fueled by curiosity and enthusiasm he barely noticed the days growing shorter as the stained leaves begun to fall and litter the forest paths on which he traveled.

Thankfully Gil Galad had seen that Celebrimbor was generously stocked with food and warm furs to make the road as comfortable as it could be. However, winter chose to come swiftly, replacing the warmth of autumn with a harsh hand and the first snow fell rather early that year, catching up with the smith at nearly three-quarters of the way to his destination. And while orcs might have been chased away from these new lands the cold presented a problem of its own.

For a few nights in a roll Celebrimbor heard wolf howls rising in the distance. They were always far away, but as the days grew even shorter and the nights even colder, the pack seemed to be hunting closer and closer to the elf’s nightly encampments.

On one frosty night when the evening sun had been shrouded by heavy snow clouds and the dark had caught up with the smith amidst a drafty old forest with no shelter in sight, Celebrimbor had no choice but to make camp in a small clearing between the trees. A sinister wind was flying between the trunks of the ancient pines, howling almost as loudly as the wolves that could be heard in the distance, and biting at any exposed flesh it could find.

Celebrimbor had pulled his cart close to the fire, using it for meagre shelter against the draft. He sat atop a fur blanket, wrapped fully in a felt cloak with his back leaned on one of the wooden wheels that were short and sturdy like the folk that had made them. He peered beneath the dark-blue hood at the crackling fire, throwing pieces of wood and nudging it every now and then to keep it going.

Usually he doused it for the night, however he intended to remain vigilant until the morning, in case the pack of wolves decided to try their luck with a full-grown elf. As unlikely as it was, there was a growing sense of unease inside Celebrimbor’s heart. The forest was whispering all around him and he was getting the sense of being watched. The snow-clouds covered the wane moon and the pale stars, and the darkness around his campfire grew so absolute that it was impossible to distinguish anything beyond the circle of orange light. Soon enough he sensed something approaching.

Celebrimbor kept his breathing even as he sighted the first movement in the darkness. He was no coward, nor was he a youth unseasoned in battle. The hand beneath his cloak was grasping a hilt of a blade, worn to the shape of his fingers. A slender figure was moving through the trees towards his firelight. Apart from the relative shape of the being, Celebrimbor could distinguish nothing else in the darkness, and so he pressed his back to the security of the wooden cart behind him, grit his teeth and braced himself for anything.

The creature that walked out of the forest and into the light of his campfire appeared to be an elf. An odd one, for certain, but his stance was tall and elegant and his features beautiful, like only the elder race could be. The pointy tips of his ears that peaked from the wavy fall of his fiery red hair was another clue and Celebrimbor relaxed enough to let out the breath he’d been holding.

“Well met, stranger! Who are you and what business have you in these woods on such a cold night?” Celebrimbor spoke from his deceptively relaxed position by the cart. His blade was still hiding beneath the long blue cloak and he was ready to draw it and pounce to his feet the instant that he sensed something wrong with his unlikely visitor.

“Well met!” the strange elf greeted, . “I would gladly tell you this and that, if only you could afford place by your fire for a wary traveler.”

Celebrimbor considered the red-haired elf for a moment. A traveler, he claimed to be, but he did not look like one, nor did he look particularly chilled. It was hard to place anything about the elf, from his clothing, to his bearing to his accent, and Celebrimbor had not forgotten the tales of the enthralled elves of Morgoth and the foul deeds they had often committed. And there was something unsettling about this elf, besides his odd circumstances. His face was fair, more so than any Celebrimbor had ever seen. But his eyes were weary, the way those of mortals got with old age, weary and tired and not entirely pleasant in the way they looked upon Celebrimbor. For a moment, the Noldo had no doubt that this strange elf was dangerous, however he hadn’t tried to attack him as of yet, nor sneaked upon his camp in stealth, so Celebrimbor decided to give him a chance, as he was ever prone to doing with anyone that he met.

“Sit then and be my guest,” he invited and when the wanderer sat on the dewy forest floor beside the fire Celebrimbor pushed back his hood. “Warm yourself, tell me your story and I would gladly break bread with you, fellow traveller.”

The red-haired ner smiled and raised his eyes to look at Celebrimbor's face, who was startled by their unusual colour. Perhaps they were grey, but in the warm light of the fire they appeared almost yellow. His fascination didn’t last long, because it was soon replaced by discomfort as the smile on the other’s face faded to an unreadable grimace as the ner stared at him openly for a moment that seemed to drag for eternity.

“I recognise you,” the other elf said and Celebrimbor’s gut gave a painful twist. That line, accompanied with the straight set of the lips and the level stare was one of the few things he still dreaded in the world. For while the enemy was vanquished and for a few decades the elves had been free of a new threat, old insults and crimes were not forgotten, and in a time of rest old wounds reminded of themselves and burned even more, and so many who had temporarily forgiven him his lineage during a time when his swords and armour were an essential addition to their safety, had begun to remember who he was, and whom he was related to once the war was finished.

But the wanderer surprised him still.

“I would recognise that face anywhere,” he said in a lighter tone and in an instant the tension was shattered. “You are of Feanor’s blood. Strange - I had heard that all of his sons were lost.”

“You have heard right,” Celebrimbor fought to keep the tenseness from his voice. “All of them are either lost or gone. I am his grandson.”

“Ah,” the other elf exclaimed. “Curufin’s boy..”

Celebrimbor frowned at the use of ‘boy’ to describe him. Then again, now that he was getting a better look at the other elf’s face, he supposed that he was little more than a boy for the red-haired stranger. There were fine lines surrounding his eyes, faint creases between his eyebrows and at the corners of his lips - testifying to either immense worries and anguish or a truly ancient age. Maybe even both at the same time. Perhaps that was what made the other ner so unusual and perplexing.

“Did you know my grandfather?” Celebrimbor had to fight the curiosity in his voice. He didn't want to give himself away or appear to be too sympathetic with his late kin. He still didn’t know where the stranger’s loyalties lied and what had brought him to his camp on such unlikely circumstances.

“I can’t say I knew him, although I have watched him work, back in the days when I too worked in Aule’s forges. I was a great admirer of his accomplishments,” the other elf said and it left no more room for speculation on the expanse of his age.

“You have worked alongside Aule and Feanor…” Celebrimbor acknowledged warily. There were so many questions he had for an elf like that, so many things he wanted to discuss about metallurgy, about craft, about the past.... Even more reasons to be cautious with fate’s unexpected boon, so he asked: “And what may I call you then, ancient one, for now you have picked my interest and I wish to know whom it is I am speaking with?”

The stranger laughed, his gaze lowering almost demurely.

“I seem to recall a promise for bread shared,” he suggested and Celebrimbor sprang into action, all of his earlier stillness broken.

“Forgive me, how inexcusably rude of me to question you, while you must be starving -” the Noldo opened the cover of his cart and retrieved some lembas and packed cheese. He also took out a flask of the last remaining red wine for good measure.

When he offered that to his guest the ancient elf laughed.

“Eager to loosen my tongue, aren't you?”

Celebrimbor chuckled despite his best attempts to appear neutral.

“You present quite the mystery.” He took a careful sip from the flask and passed it to the other traveler. The stranger drank deeply, closing his eyes for a long moment and savoring the taste in his mouth before swallowing it.

The pause gave plenty of time for Celebrimbor to sate his curiosity regarding the other elf, but after the quick sweep of the fiery-haired ner’s handsome features and road-worn cloak, Celebrimbor found himself only more eager to look upon him.

He averted his eyes before he got caught staring.

“And I like to keep it that way,” the wayfarer stated, and for a moment Celebrimbor wondered what that was about, having all but forgotten his earlier statement in the wake of eyeing the man’s nearly intimidating beauty.

The flask was passed back to him and Celebrimbor took a deeper swig, trying and failing to ignore the thought of the stranger’s mouth on it.

“The ancient and mysterious type,” he teased before berating himself for the playful tone. He was supposed to be cautious, not flirty with this man that he knew nothing about.

To his surprise the stranger did not frown at him in offence, but laughed. It was a pleasant sound and it caused little thrills to stir in Celebrimbor’s stomach. He mentally kicked himself again for acting ridiculous.

“Did you know that the dwarves never give away their true names," the stranger leaned towards him conspiratorially and Celebrimbor’s eyes widened in excitement at the mention of Aule’s folk. He had never met another elf who shared his enthusiasm about their culture and craft, nor had mentioned them even in passing in casual conversation.

“They believe that there is power in true names,” he continued, “and that if one knows the true name of a dwarf, then they acquire power over them.”

“But they give their true names to family and their most trusted friends,” Celebrimbor nodded with an earnest smile. “Yes, I do know. I used to consider it a strange belief, but upon reflection, it makes a lot of sense. Words hold power, so do the true names of things. Given what we know of spellcraft, is a curious thing that we elves choose to give ours away so trustingly.”

His guest’s smile grew as he listened, and he shifted a little closer, but if his grin showed a few too many teeth, Celebrimbor hardly noticed.

“Indeed,” he said and Celebrimbor’s eyebrows twitched in amazement that this elf was agreeing with his rather controversion opinion that the dwarves were smarter than the elves in some way - something that would have outraged most Eldar. “And so I too guard my name and share it only with those close to me. Or with those who can guess it right. Which one do you intend to be?”

“I…” Celebrimbor wasn’t one for loss of words, but his mind spiralled around the word 'close' and all its possible meanings.

Celebrimbor looked him up and down one more time, this time no doubt without escaping the other’s notice as he took in the long dark eyelashes over those spectacular bright yellow eyes, the fiery auburn tresses that curled around the older elf’s face and the loose curls that flowed over a set of broad shoulders and down his back. The stranger’s pale fingers were sprayed over the wet ground on which he sat, gleaming like a star against the dark earth. His nails were long and pointed, but it seemed like a curiosity rather than a threat. The dark robes he wore could have been either a noble’s or a merchant’s. It was hard to gleam anything about his origin from their design. They didn’t look noldor, nor did they seem sindar, but they wrapped around a narrow waist quite fetchingly and revealed a set of long legs that ended with the reinforced boots of a soldier.

“If you will not divulge me your name straight away, I would still need something to call you by,” Celebrimbor settled for at last, choosing to play safe and ignore the question until he was certain of the other’s intention. “The dwarves offer their nicknames to strangers. So should you.”

“But we are hardly strangers, if I know who you are,” the other traveler’s smile was a slow, amused thing, as if they were playing a game and he was winning. “But … You may call me Artano.”

Artano… Highsmith. Celebrimbor’s heart’s fluttered in his chest.

“Is that name earned?” he asked with bated breath.

“When I forged alongside Aule in his halls, it was,” Artano answered. “But it has been too long since I’ve stepped foot into a forge. In the meantime I may have been surpassed, by someone of the likes of you... Don’t look so shy - I have heard of you, and not just of your birth in a family of too many boys already.”

“Oh,” Celebrimbor busied himself with throwing another log into the slowly dying fire, hoping that his lowered eyes would hide his blush. “And what have you heard?”

“That you have outgrown your father’s skill,” the red-haired ner answered. "And that you didn't partake in the assault of Menegroth but sought your own fortune away from your family's oath."

Celebrimbor didn’t dare look at him as he listened. His family’s reputation often outshined his own and left little chance to prove himself as his own person to others. But Artano didn’t sound accusing in one way or another, of his decision to renounce his father, nor did he seem intimidated to keep the company of a Feanorian. He treated him as if he was any other elf - like the dwarves did - and it was a welcome respite from the constant weight of responsibility that his heritage placed on him in the eyes of other elves.

“I renounced my family after Nargothrond. For the rest, there is little to add," Celebrimbor admitted. "But tell me about yourself, Artano! You may know of me, but I can gleam little about you. You don’t look or sound Noldor, but you mentioned being a smith in Aule’s halls, and I haven’t heard of any of the other elven people taking much interest in our craft.”

His guest looked mildly irked by the change of subject and Celebrimbor internally winced. Their conversation had been going well so far and he didn’t want to ruin it.

“That’s because I’m not a Noldo,” Artano said.

“Are you mixed?” Celebrimbor asked carefully. From what he knew, the Feanorian followers had been pretty hostile to the idea of mixing with the other elven races, seeing it as treason towards their heritage - a notion no doubt inspired by Feanor’s own dismay towards his half-siblings.

Artano made a non-commitment noise and Celebrimbor decided not to push the matter further.

“Is something wrong with the lembas?” he asked instead, noticing that his guest had not touched the bread that Celebrimbor had passed to him.

Artano seemed to snap out of a dark reverie and looked down at the leaf-wrapped piece of lembas by his bent knees.

“I doubt lembas can go bad,” he said with a strange smile, “let’s say that I’m tired of it. A traveller that has been on the road for too long would have the right to be, no?”

“Yes, it gets a little boring after a while,” Celebrimbor seized the opportunity to return the smile. “Luckily, I passed by a wild apple tree some days ago and managed to harvest a few of its late fruits.”

He turned back to his cart and after some rummaging through his packaged positions located the precious apples.

“You may have renounced your family, but you live up to their generosity,” Artano said behind his back and Celebrimbor frowned.

“What have I done to deserve your mocking?” he turned with two apples caught in his long fingers.

“Mock you?” Artano looked perplexed. “Why would you say that?”

“Were you sincere?” Celebrimbor asked, keeping his demeanour cool as he regained his seat on the warm furs and passed an apple to the stranger.

“Indeed, I was - you have shown me nothing but generosity and courage - for few would take a lone wanderer in the night. Many of your… our people turn away strays from fear.”

And with a good reason, Celebrimbor remembered.

“Are you a stray?” he asked instead and when he met Artano’s gaze he found it calm and knowing, and making him all the more embarrassed for asking such an uncomfortable question, because they were both aware that they were not talking about wanderers.

“No, I was never a thrall,” Artano informed him with a steady gaze, looking straight into Celebrimbor’s eyes and the younger elf secretly let out a sigh of relief, for there was no lie in that statement.

“I am surprised then that you are so unaware of my family’s bad reputation - most use the name Feanorian as a synonym for stingy and austere.”

“You forget I knew your grandfather from before the… jewels.”

“And he was generous then?” Celebrimbor hoped that he had not sounded too hopeful.

Artano nodded and pulled out a small knife from under the black cloak, which covered most of his attire. It was a small blade, but it was sharp and cruel, and it shone threateningly in the fire light. Celebrimbor stared at it’s dark steel despite himself, curious about the craftsmanship. If Artano had noticed, he didn’t offer the blade for inspection by the fellow smith, instead he used it to cut the cheese and the apple with quick, efficient movements and offered a bite of the two together to the curious craftsman.

“Try it,” he offered and Celebrimbor forgot about the knife, which had already disappeared beneath the stranger’s cloak, as their fingers brushed when he took the offered food.

A little cautiously Celebrimbor took a bite just as Artano did the same, their eyes never leaving each other.

Pleasantly surprised by the combination of textures and taste Celebrimbor hummed.

“This is good,” he praised.

Artano gave him a smirk. They continued eating the apples and the cheese, passing the wine flask in companionable silence.

“And where are you headed, young Lord?” Artano asked and Celebrimbor hid his teeth as he laughed.

“Please, Artano, I haven’t been a Lord for two centuries.”

“Alright then, but apart from Curufin’s son, I’m afraid I never knew your name,” his guest divulged and smiled apologetically, which Celebrimbor waved away.

“You should have said so straight away,” he responded. “You’re not the only one, but unlike others you have the courtesy of realising that I could be called something else besides my father’s or grandfather’s names. It’s Celebrimbor, and no, I don’t hide it like the dwarves do, although in a sense this Sindarin name is but a nickname.”

“Did your father give you a Quenya name as well?” Artano wanted to know.

“My mother did…” Celebrimbor hesitated for a moment. In Beleriand he had not been allowed to use his Quenya name because of the ban, and also giving it away felt somewhat intimate. It was one of his most cherished possessions, the only thing he had of his mother, and the most valuable one of all gifts. He eyed the red-haired elf with the strange yellow eyes one more time. It wasn’t often that people asked to know this name or uttered it for him. In the end he couldn’t resist, “Tyelperinquar.”

“Tyelperinquar,” Artano enunciated slowly, rolling the name off his tongue as if tasting it and Celebrimbor immediately felt rewarded for his daring. His name sounded so sweet coming from this stranger’s lips. He wished to hear it again and again.

“Yes,” Celebrimbor affirmed uselessly and tried to hide an embarrassed smile.

“May I call you Tyelperinquar?” Artano asked and Celebrimbor’s heart gave a hard thud.

“It’s quite a mouthful, I know,” he begun by force of habit before the meaning registered in his mind and confused him even more, “but of course you can. You can call me anything you want. If you find it too long, you can always use the shorter version Tyelpe.”

“Tyelpe. I find I like that as well,” Artano said and Celebrimbor stopped talking before he embarrassed himself even further and simply smiled.

“I cannot help but wonder…” Artano trailed off, as if reluctant to continue that thought.

“Can’t help but wonder what?” Celebrimbor couldn’t suppress his curiosity.

“Forgive me, but why would the scion of the house of Feanor travel alone and unescorted through the wilds? Surely that is not the wisest decision for one of such high birth.”

“It’s a complicated matter and my answer would be long,” Celebrimbor lowered his eyes to the flames as he spoke.

“I have nothing better to do than listen,” Artano spread his arms towards the dark woods all around them as if to indicate that they were alone. When Celebrimbor continued to hesitate the added in a honeyed voice, “Tyelperinquar, if you indulge me I might just reveal a few of my own mysteries.”

“If you are proposing a trade then I agree,” Celebrimbor gave in to the temptation. He took a deep breath to steady himself and then began explaining in an even voice.

“The main reason for my travel is to honour an old promise to friends from Durin's folk. They told me stories of the mining realm of Khazad-Dûm and great halls under the Misty Mountains, which they intended to build.”

He glanced at the flame-haired one and found his guest listening intently, as if thirsty for information. Celebrimbor only took encouragement from his interest in the tale.

“I promised to help them realise some of the ambitions plans they laid out to me, when we were colleagues in the forges in Falas. The dwarves were refugees, driven from their homelands and dreaming of following their kin into that new realm, and working on something splendid that would become their legacy.”

Celebrimbor caught himself smiling wistfully.

“An interesting venture,” Artano offered. “One that intrigues me much. I am an admirer of the Khazad’s culture and arts, although I have found that they have little patience for me.”

“They have little patience for anyone of our race,” Celebrimbor chuckled. “It was circumstance that brought us together, a stroke of luck and fate. I am grateful for the chance I was given to become a friend to those amazing people.”

“Yet you didn’t answer my question,” Artano prompted. “I asked you why do you travel alone, not where you are headed.”

“I can see that there will be no cheating you,” Celebrimbor laughed a little nervously. “Alright, the answer to your question should be pretty obvious to anyone who hasn’t lived in a burrow for the last few years… But if you must hear it - I had to leave for political reasons.”

“I take it there is tension over who should be the High King of the Noldor?”

“You have been living in a burrow, haven’t you,” Celebrimbor shook his head.

“You have not earned the right to ask me questions yet,” Artano prompted.

“High King Gil Galad pardoned the Feanorians on Lord Elrond’s request. There was a meagre fraction of them at the end of the War of Wrath, but once word spread that Lindon is offering shelter to the former followers of Maedhros and Maglor, many more came out of hiding and settled in the coastal city. Unfortunately some of them seem to have yet sparks of rebellion in their heart and set their sights on me as the only surviving heir of the house. They asked to swear allegiance to me and I happily accepted it from those who wanted to be craftsmen and to work alongside me.”

Artano’s smile quirked up knowingly but he said nothing and waited for Celebrimbor to continue.

“This decision sowed the seeds of civil unrest and soon the population split into two factions - those who believed that I have the only right to be High King and the rest, who wanted me and the Feanorians banished.”

Artano nodded slowly in understanding.

“So, the High King politely asked you to leave?”

“Only until the high passions settle,” Celebrimbor assured him. “As I said, I had old friends to visit, so I took this as an opportunity to take a break from the never-ending line of projects that come my way. So far it has been a welcome reprieve.”

“The High King could have at least afforded you an escort,” Artano disagreed. “He disrespected you.”

“No!” Celebrimbor said firmly. “I insisted on the lack of need for such things. Taking men with me would have sent the wrong message, whether they had been Gil Galad’s followers or my own.”

Artano made a small humming noise in consideration.

Celebrimbor gathered his hair in his hands and brushed it out of his face. The topic had gotten him all riled up, but he believed he had earned to get some information in exchange for his sincere answer.

“It is my turn now,” he said, hoping to disperse the tension in his chest. “How did you end up here all by yourself? Where were you headed?”

Artano sighed and readjusted, sitting with his knees raised before him and entangling his fingers in front of them in a loose embrace.

“I was travelling towards the north on horse with little valuables,” he begun, “but my camp was robbed by bandits a few days since while I was washing in a nearby stream.”

“That’s very unfortunate. I wasn’t aware that there are bandits in these woods,” Celebrimbor said with some concern, mind already calculating what he could spare to give this traveler on the next day when their paths diverged again.

“There are even worse things,” Artano said somewhat darkly. “Keeping a fire going can attract unwanted attention. It would be wise douse it.”

For a moment Celebrimbor felt the urge to accommodate the stranger and to agree with him, but his gut protested, and he considered it for a long moment.

“Not tonight,” he uttered with finality. Artano’s eyes darted away briefly.

“And where were you going in the North? I thought only orcs and evil creatures remained there,” Celebrimbor continued and Artano’s eyes were back on him, bright and cheerful.

“There are cities of Men, growing by the day,” Artano disagreed.

“News of that realm hasn’t reached Lindon yet,” Celebrimbor mused. “Does it have a name?”

“Hjarn, Fyrrumhjarn, Efstrfell… the names change as quickly as the rulers themselves,” Artano shrugged.

“What do you seek from such people, whose stay in Arda is so short that there is barely enough time to get to know them?”

“Men are interesting,” Artano’s smile was a far away one. “And they are all the more industrious for their short lifespan. What do you think? Is it fair that they are cursed with such short lives?”

'Cursed' was not a word any of the Westerners would use to describe Eru’s gift. It was blasphemous. However Celebrimbor’s thoughts turned to the dwarven friends that he had.

He recalled laughing together at the worst kind of baldy dwarven jokes while pounding away steel in a drafty canvas pavilion, which had served as a temporary forge in the refugee camp in Falas. The way the dwarves always bought rounds for everyone and generously shared food even when it was scarce. The way his friends had stepped in to defend him when a bitter survivor of the massacre’s that his uncles had wrought would see fit to vent their anger on him…

How he wished that all of those friends yet lived, but many had passed already, while from some he hadn’t had news in a long time. He hoped to find them still living, or at least to meet their successors and find a piece of them in their children. Put into such perspective, Celebrimbor could see how Eru's gift could be a curse, especially for mortal Men, whose lives were even shorter.

“No, I don’t think that it’s fair that all mortals, no matter how brave or noble, must die all the same,” Celebrimbor concluded.

“In this we agree then,” his companion smiled and inched closer around the flame to sit right by where Celebrimbor’s foot rested, so close that the Noldo’s toe could brush the other elf’s thigh if he but extended it.

Celebrimbor tried not to let that proximity distract him.

“Will you come by Khazad-Dûm when you are back from your travels? I am certain that if I ask you would be admitted into my friends' realm. If half of the stories they tell are true, then you would witness something mind-boggling," Celebrimbor offered before he admitted, "and I would be happy for the chance to talk to you again. It’s true that we barely met, but I already find you much easier to talk to than most elves I know.” 

“And so are you,” his companion said thoughtfully.

Around them the forest was quieter than before Artano had appeared and snow had begun to fall in earnest. Celebrimbor only then noticed the heavy snowflakes that melted and hissed on the fire, and the thin layer of white that now coated the forest floor. He shivered and threw more wood into the fire.

“It’s only going to get colder now,” his companion observed. “We best retire soon.”

...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating change: Explicit
> 
> Here's the deal - the short wait I promised turned into a long wait, because I'm so short on time. So without further ado, here's the second chapter as it is now. I wanted to fix it a little more, but oh well.... I hope you like it!

...

“It’s only going to get colder now,” Artano observed. “We best retire soon.”

“Yes. Well, you need something-” Celebrimbor looked absentmindedly to the fur blankets, which he used for his camp bedding, uncertain what he wanted to suggest, but his guest beat him to it:

“I wouldn’t mind,” Artano nodded towards him and a little hesitantly Celebrimbor moved aside making space for Artano to sit beside him on the furs.

They sat snugly together, each wrapped in a heavy cloak to ward off the cold. Celebrimbor sighed, attempting to exhale the tension that coiled in his stomach. It didn’t go away completely, the handsome stranger’s proximity was enough to keep him on his toes for the entire night, but he wanted to at least appear at peace.

His eyes yearned to take in the other man’s flame-like hair, the perfect lines of his profile, but he didn't dare steal another look. However, Artano seemed determined to keep him off-balance. He pressed closer to Celebrimbor’s side and leaned his head on the Noldo’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

This time Celebrimbor couldn't resist turning his grey eyes to the peaceful features of the other elf’s face. Artano’s eyes were closed and their long, curved lashes threw shadows on his cheeks, which danced with the flickering firelight. His lips were full and rounded where they sat under a narrow, straight nose. The skin around them looked soft and smooth like a child’s, however there were those unusual mimic lines that edged each corner, fine and almost translucent like a spider’s web. Celebrimbor yearned to trace them, taste those lips, bury his face in that hair.

“You seem like the kind of elf to take a chance when it's presented to him,” Artano sighed, his tone conversational and completely at odds with the startled beating of Celebrimbor’s heart.

When the Noldo didn't dare move a muscle or even reply, Artano exhaled deeply.

“I could be wrong,” he added without opening his eyes. “I hope you don’t mind if I rest.”

Celebrimbor gathered his courage and dared to wrap his arm, cloak and all, around the red-haired stranger’s lithe frame. Artano didn’t react and in the stillness that followed, the younger elf feared he had misunderstood the challenge.

“I’m sorry,” Celebrimbor apologised. He tried to retreat his arm, but Artano leaned on it heavily, pinning it between himself and the wooden frame of the cart.

His yellow gaze was completely unfathomable when it latched onto Celebrimbor’s, stealing the Noldo’s breath away, as if measuring his very soul, judging it...

“Don’t be,” Artano enunciated slowly. “You surprised me.”

Celebrimbor resisted the urge to bite his lip and look away, the heat of those strange eyes on him becoming nearly unbearable and making him burn, even as his breath made clouds in the freezing night air.

He had never been in a situation like that. He had made a move in a game, to which he didn't know the name, nor the rules. But it was Artano’s move and slowly, as if rehearsing a complicated figure of a dance, he begun to lower Celebrimbor to the ground.

The dark-haired elf gasped, startled by Artano’s boldness as the other elf came to lie on top of him.

“Artano…” Celebrimbor uttered, his voice too soft to be a warning.

The plush furs beneath him tickled the backs of his hands and his cheek when he glanced to the side to make sure that they were not being observed.

There was no one around - they were alone in the windy forest with the whispering of the trees, and the falling of the snow. Despite his anxieties, Celebrimbor’s blood was quickening and his skin tingled with excitement, so he didn't wait for Artano to kiss him and reached up kissing that pliant mouth.

Artano kissed him back and it was strange, because that was not the way of the elves, especially not of those as ancient as Artano claimed to be. The pieces didn’t fit, but Celebrimbor could feel Artano’s breath ghost over his skin like a caress, quicker now than it had been before, and he chose to ignore the little warning voices at the back of his head.

Artano tasted otherworldly, like nothing Celebrimbor had ever experienced before. There was an electrifying energy buzzing just bellow the flesh and Celebrimbor would have wondered about it, if his entire being wasn't so desperately concentrated on getting that kiss right.

Then he broke away only to belatedly ask for Artano’s permission and earn a delighted laugh from his guest.

“An elf after my heart,” Artano grinned.

Celebrimbor didn’t think on those words either, since Artano’s hands were on him and their touches were knowingly sinful. The kiss Artano gave in return was passionate and hungry, aiming to devour, Artano's reddened lips and clever tongue not leaving Celebrimbor’s until the elf had to push him back for breath.

Artano laughed again, wrestling Celebrimbor’s hands away and pinning them above his head. His hips rolled against Celebrimbor’s in a manner so suggestive that the Noldo had to turn away to hide his blush.

Then Artano bit him, hard enough to bloody his upper lip and Celebrimbor kicked from underneath him, but Artano seemed to enjoy his fast breaths and struggling just as much as he had liked the intensity of their earlier kiss. The biting teeth retreated behind plump lips as quickly as they came and Celebrimbor groaned aloud when they moved to his throat and licked and sucked the tensing muscles there.

Artano wasted no time to loosen Celebrimbor’s belt and the strings of his pants and Celebrimbor was grateful for it, having already begun to smart from the tightness down there. Artano’s elegant hand snaked between the loosened clothing, clasped around his hardened shaft and began to stroke, eliciting another incoherent sound of pleasure from Celebrimbor’s throat.

“Slow down,” Celebrimbor gasped, eyes closing and toes curling in an attempt to stave off the moment of release. Artano’s touch was unashamed and wholesome, touching Celebrimbor as if he owned him, and it was that confidence that nearly sent Celebrimbor over the edge right away.

Artano’s answer was to flip him on his stomach and reach into the back of his pants.

Celebrimbor let out a yelp in horror and shock of being touched in that way. Artano’s lack of shame persisted and he didn’t seem to care if the Noldo was kicking and wriggling as he explored the most intimate rift between his buttocks, fingers circling the tight ring of muscle of his entrance.

“I want to do so much to you,” Artano breathed in Celebrimbor’s ear, making him shudder from head to toe.

A fingertip breached him and Celebrimbor groaned in shameful excitement. He clenched his jaw and hid his face in the furs, trying to stifle any more demeaning noises of pleasure.

The hand holding Celebrimbor’s wrists tightened slightly, but Artano's other one that pinched his buttocks and massaged around his entrance was getting gentler.

The red-haired one’s breath ghosted over the shell of Celebrimbor’s pointed ear before he nipped it and dragged the sensitive flesh between his teeth. Celebrimbor’s breath came out as a defeated moan and he felt his body automatically relaxing and becoming pliant for Artano’s expert touches. The older elf seemed to recognise his surrender for what it was and soon enough his fingers were all the way to the knuckles in Celebrimbor, aided by a little oil and moving in and out in a rhythm that drove the Noldo crazy with desire.

If his father could see him somehow… Celebrimbor didn’t want to think what Curufin would have to say to such a little escapade in the middle of a forest with a total stranger.

“No doubt he would say something along the lines of ‘this is unworthy of the line of Feanor,’” Artano’s voice startled him so badly that Celebrimbor’s insides clenched painfully around the two invading fingers.

“Yes, you are thinking very loudly,” Artano continued, his fingers careful as they resumed their work on preparing him for the final subjugation. “But don’t concern yourself with your father right now. Everyone knows that he had his own failings and choosing bed-partners is rumoured to be the least of them.”

Celebrimbor didn’t know whether to be grateful or completely horrified by the intrusion on his private thoughts. He had never meant for Artano to sniff out his deepest insecurities.

“Didn’t you know that this is one of the effects of sex?” Artano asked, still reading his mind. “Mental barriers break down when bodies join. Do not fight it, don’t try to resist it. Embrace it and enjoy the utmost liberty given to incarnates.”

“If that is so, why can’t I hear your thoughts?” Celebrimbor answered, his voice sounding hoarse, breathless and nothing like himself.

Artano chuckled close to his ear. His fingers withdrew and he used them to coat his erection with the remaining oil. Like Celebrimbor, he had remained in all of his clothes, merely moving some of his garments out of the way.

“Perhaps because you are too concentrated on yourself,” Artano suggested as he pushed forward, joining their bodies until his pelvis was pressed to the back of Celebrimbor’s own. The younger elf didn’t hear anything he said after that, too preoccupied with the feeling of being fucked.

He pushed himself to his knees and Artano released his wrists, allowing Celebrimbor to brace himself on his elbows. When Artano begun to trust, Celebrimbor let his head fall between his shoulders, burying his hands in his own hair, trying to distract himself from the intensity of the feeling, but to no avail. The veil of lust erased everything but Artano. The forest disappeared, the snow, the wolves he had heard earlier, his blade, which slid from it’s scabbard due to the angle of his hips, the fire, the journey, all were unimportant and forgotten.

Artano’s fingers wrestled his grip on his own hair, until Celebrimbor’s dark locks were all wrapped around one thin white hand, and the Noldo’s neck was craned back with the pull of that grip.

Artano’s thrusts were perfect from the start, hitting home over and over again until Celebrimbor’s mouth was hanging opened in wordless awe and his eyelids fell closed to hide the way his irises rolled up in abandon. He could barely breathe, drugged with pleasure, limp and easy to manipulate when Artano pulled him back by the hair and made him sit on his lap, pausing their movements briefly.

“Let me see you,” Artano purred, and Celebrimbor recalled distantly that he ought to control his facial expressions, his body, regain some dignity…

“None of that,” Artano reprimanded softly. “You are perfect like this. So good. This is exactly how I like your kind.”

Celebrimbor still tilted his head away to hide as much as he could, but Artano pulled him back around by the chin and when Celebrimbor finally opened his eyes to meet the uncanny yellow ones, Artano rewarded him with a ravishing kiss.

“How do you want to cum?” Artano asked brazenly once he withdrew from the kiss.

“Like this?” Artano proposed and didn’t wait for an answer before one of his hands wrapped around Celebrimbor’s leaking erection and worked him fast.

“Artano… I… uh…” Celebrimbor panted and came with shout, unable to delay it.

His milky seed flowed over his reddened erection and around Artano’s pale fingers. It made a truly obscene sight when Celebrimbor dared to glance down at himself, still astride Artano’s lap and joined to him.

“Oh by all of Arda…” Celebrimbor cursed and closed his eyes.

“You like this, don’t deny it,” Artano’s tone was amused. He wiped his hand on Celebrimbor’s inner tunic, just over the Noldo's lower stomach, making Celebrimbor cringe, but he didn't try to deny it. His softening erection had given a rather tell-tale throb at Artano’s words.

“Have you thought about how you'd satisfy me?” Artano continued, giving Celebrimbor a little nudge until they were both standing on their knees, Artano still snugly inside him.

“I thought you had it all figured out,” Celebrimbor couldn’t suppress a little smirk. All strangeness had passed and he was feeling irrationally elated and giddy, more at ease than he had felt in a very long time.

“That’s true,” Artano purred and gave a hard thrust, shaking Celebrimbor’s body and causing another wave of ecstasy to run through him.

“We fit so perfectly together,” Artano continued. “I could do this all night.”

Celebrimbor inched forward and Artano followed him until they were lying on the furs with Celebrimbor on his front and Artano on top of him.

“Why don’t you then,” the Noldo suggested.

“You need to walk tomorrow,” Artano answered, “and…”

 _‘I don’t want to like this too much,’_ Celebrimbor caught the thought that Artano didn’t want to voice.

It surprised him so much that he didn’t respond. Artano was silent for a moment, no doubt realising his slip, but then he was moving again, fucking Celebrimbor with a quickly increasing pace.

Celebrimbor knew for certain that the thought hadn’t been intended for him, because Artano seemed to hurry to finish afterwards and in just a few dizzying minutes of activity his guest was lying beside him, both of them breathless and warm, regardless of the wintry weather around them.

Celebrimbor hesitated, but in the end he huddled next to the red-haired elf, wrapping them both in the furs. It felt warm and safe with Artano by his side. The fire had died down on its own, but dawn was lighting up the sky and all the dangers of the night seemed to be receding somewhere out of reach.

“I'd like to meet you again,” Artano mused softly as Celebrimbor drifted into sleep. “I think I will visit you one day.”

“I really hope so,” Celebrimbor agreed sleepily, thinking that Artano meant taking him up on his offer to visit Khazad-Dûm. “When?”

“One day, I promise. When the time is right,” was the last Celebrimbor heard of his unlikely guest before he fell into content asleep.

…

On the next day there was no sign of Artano ever being there. The fire had burned itself out and Celebrimbor was shocked to find himself waking late with most of the morning having already passed. Quickly he begun picking up his camp, wondering if the previous night had been just a wild dream. Surely if Artano was real he would have stayed until the morning when Celebrimbor could have offered him some supplies for his journey to the North and instructions on how to get to Khazad-Dûm once his business there was finished.

Looking at the fire and the late hour, Celebrimbor decided that it was best not to dwell too much on it. Perhaps Artano hadn’t been sincere when he had offered to see each other again. Perhaps he had been only the product of exhaustion and the wine that was gone from the flask. With a heavy sigh Celebrimbor picked up camp and continued down the forested path. He still had a long road up ahead to get to the Misty Mountains.

…

Many years later another smith from the West stood before him with hair like silver and eyes of molten gold. He was by far the most beautiful man Celebrimbor had ever seen, so beautiful that he made even the dream of Artano pale in comparison.

“You remind me of someone,” Celebrimbor admitted one day to his dear friend Annatar.

“Is that so?” Annatar purred and Celebrimbor felt his insides flutter. Yes, Annatar reminded him a lot of the red-haired stranger in the forest, especially when he spoke like that - with the confidence and self-assurance of a cat that had just swallowed a bird whole. But with that came also other - very thrilling - but completely inappropriate associations.

“Yes,” Celebrimbor nodded, careful not to betray the true course of his thoughts.

“And who was that someone?” Annatar asked with mild curiosity.

“He never gave me his name, but he called himself Artano,” Celebrimbor told him and watched the quirk of a small smile light up Annatar’s lips.

“Artano - Highsmith - does sound like me, doesn’t it,” Annatar said in good humour and Celebrimbor returned his smile.

“I never saw his smithing, but I doubt his title could stand true when compared to you. There is no better smith in all of Middle Earth than you,” he said and Annatar laughed.

“Don’t think that I don’t know that you are trying to flatter me, Tyelpe,” Annatar shook his head in mock reapproval. “You are the best smith in Middle Earth, and I am merely glad to be someone who could teach you how to be even better.”

Celebrimbor blushed dark red at those words.

“But if you insist, you can call me Artano, given the title suits me well enough,” Annatar continued thoughtfully. “And because you seem to miss that acquaintance of yours. Isn’t that so?”

Celebrimbor gulped down the lump that had formed in his throat. He had never met Artano again, but whether real or imaginary, Celebrimbor could never forget the night by the campfire. Calling Annatar that name was basically asking for trouble.

“If you claim it, the title is yours,” Celebrimbor answered breathlessly in lieu of agreement. It was all Annatar needed to give his most brilliant smile and say:

“Then I shall be known as Aulendil Annatar _Artano_ amongst the elves of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain.”

Celebrimbor couldn’t shake the feeling that he had heard that name spoken in that very same voice before.  
…

THE END


End file.
